Contract With My Ex's Brother

Whispers Through the Walls

Vivian’s POV

Sleep was supposed to be my escape, but even in Marcus’s bed, with its soft flannel sheets and faint pine scent, my dreams are a tangle of Clayton’s cold eyes and Kathryn’s mocking laugh. I’m jolted awake by a sound I can’t place—sharp, deliberate, like nails dragging across wood. My heart lurches, and I sit up, clutching the blanket to my chest. The cabin’s dark, save for the faint glow of the fire seeping under the bedroom door, but my wolf’s on high alert, ears pricked, sniffing the air for danger. Something’s wrong. Something’s here.

I swing my legs over the bed, the cold floor biting my bare feet, and tiptoe to the door. My hand hovers over the knob, every nerve screaming to stay put, but I can’t just hide—not after Kathryn’s creepy warning about someone else hunting me. Clayton’s not the only one, she’d said, her smirk burning into my memory. I thought I’d hit rock bottom at that couples’ party, but now I’m wondering if the floor’s about to drop again.

The hallway’s quiet, but as I creep toward the living room, I catch Marcus’s low curse, barely audible. He’s at the front door, his broad frame tense, a knife glinting in his hand. The sight of it—him ready to fight—sends a shiver through me, part fear, part something I don’t want to name. My wolf whines, drawn to his strength, and I hate how it makes my pulse race.

“Marcus?” I whisper, stepping into the flickering firelight. He spins, his storm-gray eyes pinning me, and for a second, I think he’s going to snap at me to go back. Instead, he raises a finger to his lips, nodding toward the door.

“Stay back,” he mouths, his voice so low it’s more vibration than sound. My stomach twists, but I nod, edging closer to the couch, my bare legs brushing the rough fabric.

Another scratch comes—slow, deliberate, like whatever’s out there wants us to hear it. My wolf growls, claws itching to break free, but I force her down. Shifting now would be reckless—I’m not trained like the pack warriors, and I’d probably just get in Marcus’s way. Still, the urge to do something burns in my chest.

“What is it?” I hiss, keeping my voice as quiet as I can. My eyes dart to the window, but the curtains block any view, and I’m not sure I want to see what’s making that sound.

“Not sure,” he murmurs, easing toward the window, knife still in hand. “Doesn’t smell right. Not pack.”

“Not pack?” My voice cracks, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, horrified at how loud it sounds. Not pack could mean rogues—wolves without a home, feral and dangerous—or worse, something I don’t even know about. I’m not exactly a scholar of werewolf lore; I spent most of my life thinking the mate bond was my big adventure.

Marcus glances back, his expression softening for a split second. “Breathe, Vivian. I’ve got this.”

“Do you?” I shoot back, my whisper sharp. “Because Kathryn said—”

“I know what she said,” he cuts in, his tone clipped but not cruel. “And I’m handling it. Just stay put.”

I bite my lip, hating how helpless I feel, but I nod, sinking onto the couch’s edge. The fire crackles, too loud in the silence, and I wrap my arms around myself, the chill seeping deeper than my skin. Marcus moves like a predator, silent and precise, as he peers through a slit in the curtains. His jaw tightens, and my heart skips—whatever he sees, it’s not good.

“What?” I mouth, barely daring to breathe.

He shakes his head, stepping back, and motions for me to join him at the far wall, away from the door. I move fast, my feet silent, and press against the wood paneling beside him. His warmth radiates, steadying me, and I catch his scent again—pine, musk, a hint of bourbon. It’s grounding, even with my pulse hammering.

“Something’s circling,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. “Not human, not wolf. Smells… off. Like ash.”

“Ash?” I frown, my mind racing. “What does that mean?”

“Trouble,” he says, and there’s a grim edge to his voice that makes my stomach drop. “Could be a scout, could be worse. We’re not opening that door until I know.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “What do we do?”

“We wait,” he says, his eyes flicking to mine. “And we talk. Keeps you calm, keeps me focused. Tell me something—anything. Why’d you pick that blue dress tonight?”

I blink, thrown by the question. “Seriously? Now?”

“Now,” he insists, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the tension. “Humor me.”

I huff, glancing at the door, but the scratching’s stopped, leaving an eerie quiet. “Fine. Clayton said blue was his favorite color on me. Thought it’d… I don’t know, make him happy.”

Marcus’s smirk fades, replaced by something softer, almost sad. “He didn’t deserve it. You looked like a damn star out there, and he was too blind to see it.”

My cheeks heat, and I look away, tugging at the dress’s torn hem. “Yeah, well, lot of good it did me. Should’ve worn sweatpants.”

He chuckles, low and warm, and it eases the knot in my chest. “Next time, wear what you want. Screw what anyone else thinks.”

“Next time?” I raise a brow, meeting his gaze. “You planning a lot of these fake-mate outings?”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice teasing but his eyes serious. “Depends on how tomorrow goes. You still in for the pack meeting?”

I swallow, the memory of Clayton’s rejection flashing hot and sharp. But Marcus is right—I can’t keep running. “Yeah. I’m in. But you’d better not ditch me when things get messy.”

“Never,” he says, and the word carries weight, like a promise he means more than he should. My wolf hums, liking it too much, and I shove the feeling down. This is a deal, nothing else.

A thud outside snaps us both to attention—a heavy, deliberate sound, like something big hitting the porch. Marcus stiffens, his knife gleaming as he shifts his stance, ready to move. My breath catches, and I grab his arm without thinking, my fingers digging into his jacket.

“Stay here,” he says, voice all business now. “If I say run, you hit the back door, head for the trees. Don’t look back.”

“Marcus—” I start, but he’s already easing toward the front, his steps silent. My heart’s in my throat, every sound amplified—the fire’s pop, my own ragged breathing, the creak of the floor under his weight. I want to follow, to help, but my legs feel like lead, pinned by fear and the memory of Kathryn’s words. The other one’s already here.

He’s halfway to the door when a new sound stops him—a low, guttural hum, almost human but not, vibrating through the walls. It’s not a growl, not a howl—it’s wrong, like something that doesn’t belong in this world. My wolf recoils, tail tucked, and I press a hand to my mouth to stifle a whimper.

Marcus turns, his eyes meeting mine, and I see it—a flicker of uncertainty, there and gone. “Vivian,” he whispers, barely audible. “Get to the bedroom. Lock the door.”

“No,” I hiss, shaking my head. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Damn it, Vivian—” he starts, but the hum rises, cutting him off, and the air shifts, heavy with that ash smell he mentioned. It’s seeping through the cracks now, bitter and choking, and my eyes water.

“Marcus, what is that?” I choke out, my voice trembling.

He doesn’t answer, just grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the hallway, his knife still raised. We’re almost there when the front door rattles—not a knock, not a scratch, but a slow, deliberate push, like something’s testing the lock. My pulse roars in my ears, and Marcus shoves me behind him, his body a shield.

“Stay with me,” he says, voice low and fierce. “Whatever happens, you stay with me.”

I nod, clutching his arm, my wolf clawing for control. The door creaks, the lock straining, and then—

A shadow moved across the window, too

tall, too wrong, and the glass shattered inward with a scream that wasn’t human.